


Contrast

by lofty



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Blood and Violence, Developing Friendships, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Moral Dilemmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 06:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lofty/pseuds/lofty
Summary: Rhys has never been forced to take someone's life until now, and he never expected the catalyst to be anger of all things.





	Contrast

His cap wasn't quite as effective as his old hood at keeping the flecks of windswept snow out of his eyes, the powdery beads of frozen, flaked water melting against his bangs and stinging his cheeks. Muddy slush clung to his boots and sullied the hem of his vestments. All around him the chaos of battle roiled the stormy air, stirring up splashes of blood and glints of metal, violent roars and clashing limbs. As a healer, Rhys grew most accustomed to the very edge of battlefields, only treading into the thick of falling bodies when a comrade's life hung at the edge. Today, however, he was not just a healer.

Perhaps out of habit the priest at heart in bishop's garbs lagged a short ways behind the rest of his companions-in-arms, all of whom were in a hurry to reach Talrega's floodgates in time. Rhys knew he couldn't hope to make it there before his mounted counterparts, understood how that was never the role expected of him in this fight. He stuck to restoring battle wounds. There was something morbid about saying so, but he had grown quite comfortable with his prescribed job patching up teammates amid the turmoil of lives taking lives. It was an important job to do, and he could watch over his teammates like a guardian angel waiting in the wings. But a spectral presence lingered in the back of his mind, shaped like a spellcaster's book and folded away inside his satchel. 

He'd practiced with it the day prior, certainly not on any living beings and out of sight, as though trying to conceal a shameful bodily function. He couldn't maintain his secret for long; rays of blinding, holy light have a way of illuminating dark boreal woods at sundown, but after the warm and vibrant company of Tormod (which eventually ended up hot and dangerous), he found himself having a lot of fun conjuring magic in new and exciting ways. It made him forget his reservations entirely. Now that death bloomed all around him, he remembered again his original reason for reluctance, and the encouragement wilted.

Most of the action took place up higher on the slopes and closer to the gates. Reinforcements cropped up to attack stragglers such as him, adding to the mayhem. Luckily, he was not alone; Rolf stayed close to the rear like him, and so did his brother, Oscar, in a chain of mercenaries looking out for mercenaries. It wasn't just mercenaries, for one of their newer companions, the Phoenician king's personal attendant, Ulki, had lingered behind as well to pick off the remaining reinforcements. To Rhys, he wasn't just that any longer; their mutual acquaintance had warmed up to a growing friendship he had come to cherish. As such, he was grateful to have him close by, and not just for the extra help he could be. Ulki, like most hawk laguz, tended to let out a fierce cry of triumph after a successful kill. Rhys's ears had grown attuned to them, used to them, enough so that they were background noise, but a welcome one that usually drew his attention. Even though slaughter was brutal and not something the priest enjoyed spectating, he could never get over the magnificent sight of his friend's acrobatics. 

Even though Ike's forces were making significant headway, numbers on each side were enough to keep everyone occupied. Rhys had plenty of injuries to treat. He just got finished repairing a mean gash in the eldest brother's arm, waving a quick farewell as his horse galloped ahead, when his attention got diverted by a scream.

This particular scream did not pierce the skies with one long, descending note. The shrill cry sounded like it was being ripped apart in his throat. His eyes confirmed the worst.

"Ulki!"

The mighty bird tumbled through the air, only managing to right himself with a few furious flaps of his wings. He next ignored the opponent who assaulted him with his bow to dive into another one, as if trying to redirect his flickering aerial energy to good use. A battle-worn mage toppled against the fencepost and sunk as his demise bid him to. Rhys spotted the cause of Ulki’s agony when his front came into view: a stick with fletching that jutted out the side of his breast, oozing with blood. The priest's organs lurched sickly. In spite of the gore that always repels him, he headed toward it.

The archer didn't have to move. Even at a safe distance, his voice carried on the gusts of wind like the relentless snowflakes. His craggy face was twisted in a blend of smug vitriol.

"Brutal kill, there! What's a half-breed like you doing, poking your grimy beak in human conflicts? After the spoils again, I see! Mangy thieves. You pigeon people are all the same, squawking over our stuff 'cause you're too birdbrained to make your own."

Ulki wheeled about to face the Daein soldier, but his wingbeats were torpid, his head drooping, and he couldn't fight it any longer. The giant hawk gave way to a transformation, and peeling away all the layers of imposing follicle and sinew left a beaten man buckling into the critical wound he received.

"Ha! There we go! All dressed and ready for my next arrow to sink into." His arm dug into his quiver. "My one regret about felling you this way is that you won't make a good mantelpiece like this!"

All of Rhys's fears regarding personal safety shed with each step he took. The archer could divert his shot with ease, especially if he were skilled enough to land one on vigilant Ulki, but in the face of that he felt no concern. The intensity of his emotions was amassing toward another passion.

"D-Don't speak to him that way! He's not... He's not some trophy for you to take home!" 

The archer glanced his way, scoffed, then gestured, as if using him to prove a point. "I heard those Crimeans had some beastmen on their side." The slope of his sideways grin slanted to a higher degree. "But we humans, we're pretty much all the same, too. Right, priest? We pray to the same goddess, you and I. Side with the Crimeans all you want, but I bet even that scrawny priest over there is plotting ways to wear your feathers like a boa!"

Rhys shook his head, drawing his lips into a tight line that matched the desperation in his eyes. "Never! Don't say such horrid things about him, nor our friendship!" He put his staff away, reaching into the space at the back of his mind. 

" _Friend?!_ " shrieked the soldier, just about ready to spill his guffaws. "More like trained pet! You seem to think you've got them on your side...Well, I suppose you squishy priests who come from a country full of softies might cuddle your curs and kiss your chickens. But just remember, he'll turn coats and show his true plumage after he's done using you, just like Kilvas did to us. Mark my words. A monster's a monster, and I'll show you how to deal with those."

Only one draw of an arrow’s time was all he had to act. Rhys held no shard of hesitation. Inside he was like a tea kettle, a storm of steam furling within. How could the man say things like that, opponent or otherwise? He didn't know a thing about Ulki, yet called him a monster without even experiencing his kindness, a tapestry without regard for his dignity and humanity, brought Ashera into this, mocked Crimeans for having compassion and labeled Ulki a traitor because of actions that weren't his. The desperate fury steadily vibrating through his system carried enough clout to shatter his mind like a glass orb. And with his hands folded together not in prayer but over magic-bound pages, he took destiny into his own.

The tome begot a brilliant burst of deadly light in much the same fashion as Rhys’s nettled incantation gave voice to the silent script. Light woven through voice woven into ink woven by binding, all a seamless process that resulted in the swift theft of the archer’s life. He crumpled to the snow and muck in an obedient bow until finally he lay prostrate and still. 

Then, the moment engraved itself in little details; Rhys took account of the minute twitch of his middle finger, how his eyes were peeled wide open but didn't see. The partition of his lips gave way to a dark, liquid lining. What horrified Rhys was how the simplicity of it all compared to blowing out a candle. What horrified him even more was how his decision had arisen from the snap of emotion rather than the present necessity guided by logic. Yes, it was both, but the former had overpowered the latter. All of the man's hateful words caved to the fact that it was a man who spoke them, a man capable of taking them back if allowed the chance, and here Rhys had forced them to be his last. He felt like a core part of him had shifted, and there he stood, incomplete, wrong, transforming.

Time was still at a dire paucity, for he couldn’t stand there sinking into the moment’s trauma when the wings of a wyvern cut the air in powerful strides that grew nearer, a Daein foot soldier not far behind him. Rhys felt his blood temperature match his wintry environment and snapped frantic attention to the hawk laguz he just spilled his first blood for. 

“Ulki! You must go!” he urged. “Please! I have no time to treat your wounds!”

Ulki’s face remained stern, unwavering and calmly decisive. He shifted his focus to the oncoming wyvern and the axe in its owner's hand, the flaps of his flinty brown wings almost too languid for the turmoil of the moment. “…I can’t leave you alone here.”

“You can’t fight like this! I‘m begging you! If you don’t, you’ll...”

It was as though his pleads fell deaf on the Hawk King’s Ears. Though he could not shift into avian form exhausted and bloodied, his condition provided a boon for Rhys. Enemies attack in patterns. If given access, they tended to pare off the weakest opponents before the core of the army's strength. As such, there is always a particular hierarchy: magic users with their slighter constitutions got the brunt of sharper weapons; defenseless clerics even more attractive; but most of all, especially in a country teeming with animosity toward men who could be found tucked in the pages of bestiaries: unshifted laguz. Like this, Ulki was on display, a target painted screaming crimson, and Rhys blurred white into the blizzard forsaken by sword and lance alike. The mounted warrior made a straight course for his winged prey.

No more words could be afforded between them; their exchange was cut short by an axe slicing the air and feathers. Rhys could only cover his eyes with fingers parting the way for him to see the whirlwind of dusky plumage and dress hurtle away, by will of the axe or no he could not discern with the limited visibility of his crude, handmade blindfold. His scream joined the howling chorus of the wind before he registered it tearing through his vocal cords.

“Noo!!”

But Ulki did not become a dark heap on the snow. He’d ascended out of weapon’s range, a person’s life not clipped short but flight feathers instead. Rhys’s grip on his tome relaxed along with his shoulders, but he couldn’t rest easy just yet. All the tension returned when the soldier’s javelin soared into Ulki. The winged man twisted his body to the side as though the sharp spear were a careless passerby in a crowded marketplace. Rhys expelled the breath he had kept and pointed his frantic gaze at him. _Why won’t you leave?_

 _Because you are in danger_ , the look he returned seemed to say. Rhys’s deepened frown replied, _but so are you!_ as he filed his tome away and made a quick decision. In this struggle, like all the struggles before, warriors will die. It’s inevitability, ghastly dance steps Rhys has had to memorize out on the battlefield if he were to keep his friends from meeting the goddess a little too early. With what little power he has to shift the outcomes, he will do all he can to assure that at the very least Ulki would survive out of the four of them. Light magic containing the potency to evaporate life was yet foreign to him. He retrieved his tool meant for restoring life. 

“At-At the very least, stay right there!” ordered Rhys, propping the Mend staff up and dipping into a practiced concentration. The solid glass orb bathed the hawk man in a soothing radiance that patched up his wounds and renewed his vitality. As if to broadcast this spike of invigoration, he pounded the air with his broad wings before his opponents. 

The wyvern rider swung his axe a second time and missed by a wider margin; Ulki stole through the opening his blunder gave him and plunged a foot into his face. While the rider rode off nursing his bloodied nose, another javelin sprung from the knuckles of the desperate soldier. It missed the mark again, almost pegging Rhys instead.

Rhys twisted his grip around his staff, hyper-aware of the greater strife and disorder suffocating this town, of the bloodshed meted out in his immediate vicinity. Ulki and him were relatively isolated, the closest ally Rolf marking his last enemy across the row of houses, who met his glimpse a couple of times in between his own engagement. Citizens of the town joined the symphony of steel and battle cries with their wails as they struggled to salvage what few personal belongings they had from the rising floodwaters. The priest’s heart was a victim, too, beset by tragedies he could never mend, and mired by the ones he caused directly. He could feel the consequences of his murder resound through the families who would catch word of the soldier's death, a wave of sorrow engulfing his loved ones and theirs. With no one to heal, the weight of his stowed Light bore down like a sack of stones on his back, but where he truly felt the gravity was in his chest. The task needed of him most right now was all too clear.

With a chant and an arm extended to the heavens, he cast the light that choked his opponent’s to darkness. He followed it with a quiet prayer, hot tears rolling down his frosty cheeks.

~

Casualties were slim: on Ike's side, anyway. Even through the fearsome struggle that nearly spelled Ulki's demise, Ulki and Rhys, with the extra help of Rolf, managed to whittle away at the reinforcements until none remained. General Shiharam had been defeated, his daughter's heart conquered by grief and all who knew of her plight radiated tension when she passed. Mist most valiantly filled the vacancy by her side, unafraid of making it worse if it meant helping her new friend heal, ready to fend off her inner demons with the same weapons she used to combat her own. Everyone had some, Rhys supposed. But in the dreary afternoon sunlight muted by gray snowfall, fingertips scalded by the frost as the provisions he offered Talrega's unfortunate were largely refused by cold faces and harsh retorts, heart bleeding at the sight of women in tears and the bodies of fallen soldiers slowly buried by snow, he felt completely unarmed against his.

It wasn't that tragedy had slithered by undetected during the war. No, he marveled at how commonplace it was, how his reaction to it happening in all directions felt ten times removed, like an echo bouncing off the chambers of his heart. 

This time was different. He gazed at his hand tinted red and watched as a teardrop melted a snowflake on his palm. This time, the sin was his.  
Those very same hands battled heat and chill long into the night, pale fingers trying to find solace against the flickering candlelight in his tent. They were rendered useless by the wintry air, and it was like trying to will stone to bend for him as he patched up a tear in his sleeve. He hoped to numb his mind instead, to compartmentalize it into the needle and use the sharp tool like a focus, weaving in and out through the frayed fabric with measured precision. To his dismay, the cold nipped away and slowly drained him of dexterity, so he was unable to patch it together. It served as a reminder to all his futilities, especially on a day like today when it seemed like he’d been more of a bane to humanity than the succor he had fought to be. It dug into all of his worst insecurities and struck a pitiful sob. He gave up on his endeavor and took to nursing his environmental affliction instead. This, too, seemed just as ineffective. He contemplated moving from his tent to sit before one of the campfires outside, but he could not bear to leave his blanket huddle on the bedroll to expose more of himself to unforgiving air, particularly while missing a layer of clothes. He withdrew his arms against his body and hated how he could not control his lower lip from quivering in an attempt to stop himself from succumbing to a crying fit. This too failed. He was grateful for the sounds of voices rising from the camp, the steady clink of the forge, and the rustling of gentle wind for concealing his sorrows. He didn’t want to trouble anyone, especially when he didn’t know where to begin explaining himself.

The hot pressure filling his head and the sound of his own frustrated anguish filling his ears deafened him to the approach of company.

“Rhys?”

The voice was deep, smooth, clipped, and familiar. “Ah! C-Come in!” Desperately he wiped at his face to conceal evidence to his waterworks and cleared his throat. Ulki had never seen him cry before, and he didn’t want to make him feel ill at ease with a show of tears. The hawk laguz sidled in, mindful of the flap and keeping his wings tight against his back. Rhys continued letting words fall out of his mouth in order to fill any awkward silences between them, but they were drenched in his sadness. “Oh wow, you startled me there. Were you looking for me?”

“My apologies. Yes, I was. You’re…” He struggled for an acceptable way to put it.

“…No, I should be sorry. You came all this way and I’m… I’m a fitful mess…”

Ulki lifted his shoulders and dropped them. Rhys tilted his face down and tried to get another grip on his emotions. Nothing was said. Ulki took this pause as an opportunity to lower himself to the ground, crossing his legs and getting as comfortable as he could. 

“…You have heard what they call me, yes?”

Rhys kept his forlorn stare fastened to his lap. “Many ugly things I can’t bear to repeat…”

“…No? Er, that’s… not what I was trying to get at. I’m called… the Hawk king’s ears.”

Rhys snapped to startled attention. “…Oh! Ohh, so you’re saying… You heard me like this, and you already knew I was crying.”

“Yes.”

An uncomfortable silence reigned between them in spite of Rhys’s wishes. It affected Ulki this time, too. Rhys couldn’t help but wonder with mortification what other sorts of embarrassing audio samples he might be privy to. What ELSE could he hear?

“…I apologize,” began Ulki. “It was… presumptuous of me, to assume I should… comfort you. And yet, I’m not… used to it.”

“No… that’s okay. It’s the thought that counts, and I appreciate it.” The slightest smile treated his features, but they only lasted until they distressed all over again. “With all my heart. It’s my thoughts that are troubling me. That you know of them, I feel less… alone with them. Oh, but I don’t want to force you to shoulder my burdens…”

Ulki quirked an eyebrow. “We’re friends. Of course I would do that.”

“…Are you sure? It’s heavy… Probably the heaviest burden I’ve shouldered in a while.”

“I’m used to heavy burdens. I carry my own, and those of others, whether I wish to or not.”

“Oh, Ulki… I never considered! How many cries you must hear… all the painful secrets…” The priests’ expression pinched in deeper and deeper consternation for him.

“Yes. That is why I have become… a good listener. I have heard the tears of many. At least allow me to understand the tears of a friend. I have not heard the source of your private troubles, but… the least I can do is listen to them. I want… to understand.”

“You’ve… You’ve got a point… Okay, Ulki. I’ll tell you the reason for my sobs…” Disorganized as his mind was, Rhys could not filter through the clutter and come out the other end with a rational sentence. His pause ended up lengthy, so Ulki helped supply him a prompt.

“Does it have anything to do with the events of our last battle?”

“Yes! Oh, yes, it… greatly upset me…”

“I could tell.” It was Ulki’s turn to take a moment to sort his thoughts into a more constructive reply. “You seemed most distraught when that archer hurled unkind words at me.”

“Greatly.” A grave acknowledgment dampened his tone. “They were so unnecessarily harsh. I couldn’t believe he felt so strongly about… about killing you, almost as though it would…” Rhys swallowed thickly. “ _Please_ him. It chilled me to the bones. I was so afraid for you.”

“It’s nothing,” dismissed the hawk laguz. “You learn to let these attitudes slide off your back when you deal with… beorc. I would be more distraught about the arrows than his impotent nattering, were I in your position.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong! I was very distraught about those, too.”

“Yes, that was pretty clear.”

“And yet, it wasn’t your injuries that drove me to my… well, erm, my…”

“Your…?”

“I’m not explaining myself very well, am I?” admitted Rhys with some shaky, breathy laughter. “When I was standing there subject to that man’s assaults, both verbal and life-threatening, I felt something stir within me. It was a very unusual feeling, one that rarely overcomes me. But… overcome me it did, and if I must admit, it… it really frightened me. More than anything else, that feeling and the results that come of it are what haunt me most.”

The suspenseful nature of the priest’s explanation piqued Ulki’s interest, so much so that he found himself urging for him to continue. “What feeling is this?”

“How do I begin to describe it? Oh, it was ghastly. His arrows were one thing, but the jabs of his invective were what prodded the embers of my heart most.” He sighed deeply, as though to expel the growing turmoil stirring within his chest. “I don’t know if it could be called rage, but… those embers were worked into quite the flame, and it burned so brightly inside me that all the misgivings I had about exterminating him vanished like smoke.” 

A poetic way to put it, thought Ulki. But he did not see eye to eye with Rhys, who treated the emotion like it was forbidden. “Yes. That sounds very much like rage. He angered you, and in retaliation you attacked. It is a sensible reaction.”

“No!” wailed Rhys, shaking his head, the sheen of his tawny eyes more striking than before in the candlelight. “It was such a regretful thing! I can’t bear to live with it now… That man, foul though his position on you may have been, had a living soul, family, friends, comrades, and I… with my own actions I stole him away from this world, stole him away from them…” Renewed tears streaked down his cheeks, halting Ulki’s mind to a crawl. The laguz found he was becoming less and less equipped to empathize with this man, whose childish reaction further divided the years lived between them into a wider gorge of separation. “I lost control of myself…” Rhys buried his face in his hands, and Ulki shifted in his spot.

“Yes. That… is the nature of death. Stealing life from others.”

“It’s terrible! I can’t forgive myself… I’ve lost track of my prayers…”

“But… you must understand. Life cannot be purchased without some death.” 

Rhys lifted his head, blinking away some of the tears in rapt consideration. Ulki continued.

“Every living thing operates under this law. When wolves kill deer, they eat their flesh to survive. When chickens are slaughtered, they feed a hungry family for a night. And in the midst of a war, men kill each other to preserve their own lives, and by extension, their comrades. By extension, perhaps their homeland. Their families. When you raised your hand against that soldier, you protected mine. I see no fault in this.”

Rhys had been stunned into a pregnant silence. He cast his eyes down to the unfinished threadwork on his sleeve, threading his thoughts through Ulki’s words again and again. It felt good to be justified, to have a reason to kill, but fears of becoming complacent with the soothing balm of vindication crowded his heart. He bit his lip and searched his companion like a lost traveler would a guide.

“But my anger… I wanted him dead. And all of a sudden, he was dead. That’s so scary.”

Ulki let the air in his lungs slide through his nose. Once again, another barrier of understanding between them presented itself. By now, he had come to know more about the resident priest of Ike’s mercenary company. He’d never met anyone in his life that bore less ill will toward anyone for anything until Rhys. That clownish reprobate of a knight called Makalov borrowed money from him some time ago, but confessed that he had actually squandered it away for gambling, and Rhys forgave him with ease while commending his honesty. Ilyana once stole his rations and mistook some medicinal berries as food, but Rhys was far more concerned about her food poisoning than the fact that she had been a little thief. Kieran and Mia were constant sources of stress for the healer, but he willingly dragged himself into their brutal escapades anyway because he thought they needed someone to watch their backs. Not that he was wrong in that respect- Ulki was reasonably sure that they might be dead without him to fuss over their wounds. One time, he healed a member of the Daein army because he couldn’t stand letting him die with his circumstances, even though he had been his enemy. Such a mindset baffled Ulki. That said, he could understand it on some level, enough to comprehend why the simple desire to end someone’s life would rattle him so.

“The fact that it plagues your conscience so much is a testament to your kind heart,” he reasoned. “But wanting someone dead sometimes isn’t strange. Whenever I slay my enemies, I usually want them to die.”

“It’s strange to me,” replied Rhys. “I have never wished death upon anyone before in my life, even when I know that it is a must…”

“Death is necessary, but that doesn’t mean you cannot regret it. It’s necessary, but regrettable. That, too, isn’t strange. You were enraged, not on your behalf but mine, and now you regret the consequences of his death. I’m being frank here, but he doesn’t even deserve the compassion you are giving him beyond the grave.”

“Every soul deserves a prayer,” protested Rhys. “He may have been wrong in having such ignorant views, but I knew that if he only had the chance to get to know you, he would start to see things differently.”

“I will not discuss that particular matter with you,” decided Ulki. His experience had taught him that some people are too obstinate to change for the better. Saying such a thing at a time when he was trying to relieve Rhys of his troubled psyche would be inimical. “All I will say is that I… admire your capacity to forgive.”

“It’s really nothing,” said Rhys on a muted voice. “I’m just doing what I must.”

“Either way, do not let your capacity to feel anger as well bother you. It is merely… human. Say what you will of me, but I also admire your willingness to defend me so fearlessly.”

This compliment flustered Rhys out of some moroseness. “I-I wouldn’t go so far as to say fearlessly! You’re my friend!” 

“And yet such a feat takes courage. It might help to put this into perspective as well: what would have happened if you hadn’t felt angered and killed him? You would have had to live with another burden, instead. If you had even survived after that moment, you would have had to shoulder the burden of guilt for failing to save my life in favor of keeping his intact, because you could not bring yourself to attack him on principle. You would have felt indirectly responsible for not doing what you could have to prevent my death.”

“I did consider this. And… you’re absolutely right.”

“So, given the situation, I think you managed to do what was best. You may be preoccupied with your own sin, but bear in mind that the blood of war is on everyone’s hands. Not just yours. We all must fight… together.”

Ulki’s last words brightened a dark corner of Rhys’s heart. Grim as his new profession lent itself to be, there was a certain satisfaction he derived from the sense of belonging he felt fighting alongside the mercenaries, and now the same held true for his new wartime companions as well. The bonds forged on battlefields were truly binding, matters of life and death building intimacies seldom found anywhere else. For a priest whose greater childhood was spent in the isolation of a sickbed, contributing to a group in a useful way, especially one that felt like a second family, was a dream come true. 

“…I think I understand,” replied Rhys on a soft, contemplative voice. “My friends are fighting. They are forced to take lives not out of pleasure, but because they must. They have already come to understand the burdens and responsibilities that come with it. So, in a strange way, I feel… as though I can begin to relate.”

“Mm.”

He laughed incredulously. “I feel so foolish now! Like without realizing I had been trying to elevate myself above the sacrifices soldiers like you are forced to make, but instead, I was just being selfish about preserving my own sanctity.” His tears had ended earlier on in the course of their conversation, but this time the renewed rivulets coursing down his face carried relief. “It took having to experience it for myself to truly open my eyes… Oh, thank you ever so much, Ulki! My heart feels so much lighter now! Your words have helped me understand a little more about myself, and what it truly means to fight for others.” Charged by the impulse of his emotions, he snatched Ulki’s hands away from him. “Ooh, this will sound really, REALLY bad, but… I’m so glad I got rid of that guy!” He applied a hearty squeeze. “Because I would much rather have you here than not!”

Anything Ulki could have said got jammed in his throat as the priest manhandled him in a burst of histrionics. He really didn’t know what to say or do in many of Rhys’s emotionally charged moments, and this one was no exception. An unintelligible croak left him instead as he gaped dumbfounded at Rhys for a few seconds, but after watching his unabashed smiling face in the low light and listening to the change in his breathing, he offered a muted smile of his own and squeezed back, letting go of his hands shortly after.

“I’m glad to have helped.” Ulki changed positions, stooping in a crouch instead. “Do try and get some sleep tonight. We need you to be healthy and rested. This stress is taking its toll on your body.”

His kindness coerced a more tempered sort of heartfelt smile out of Rhys. The gentle warmth it emanated reminded Ulki of the candlelight itself. “I didn’t notice myself, but you’re absolutely right about that. I’ll do my best.”

“And… if you ever need anything, all you need to do is call for me. If my presence is not bidden by my king, then… I will come for you. Even if it is just for some company.”

Rhys continued to glow. “That’s a very reassuring thought. I absolutely enjoy your company.” He chuckled. “But of course, I understand you’ve got a lot of important things to do. That’s why I will try to resist abusing your kind offer.”

Ulki exhaled sharply in his own subdued laugh. “You have that right. But… nevertheless. Don’t squander it, either. I made my offer for a reason.”

“Okay.”

They basked in the satisfactory peaceful atmosphere mingling between them for a few moments longer before Ulki found it suitable to leave. He thought to rumple his hair in a show of supportive affection, but didn’t want to come across as strange, particularly since it went against his ordinarily reserved nature, so he kept to himself. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight!”

Rhys watched his departure into the snowy darkness with a sinking heart. If only he could have stayed longer, and a part of him wished they could sleep in the same tent just to prolong the good feeling he left him with and avoid sequestering him alone with his dark thoughts again. He remembered his friend’s parting words, and it gave him comfort all over again. In a way, he never did leave. A part of Ulki was still here, willing to lend his ear if he just said his name.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a thing I wrote when I thought about how Rhys must have felt changing classes and using weapons that aren't healing staves. Writing this was pretty therapeutic in an unexpected way, and I felt almost as though two parts of me had split and started conversing. Also, I'm fond of these two characters interacting, and I thought the perspective of someone more seasoned in life like Ulki would be interesting and useful to bounce off Rhys's patented naiveté.


End file.
